While the rest of America devotes one Sunday every May to celebrating their mothers, I choose to celebrate the Mother in my life, Mrs. Pence, EVERY day — because she is my wife and I have made that promise to the Lord. And to her. Yes, that’s right, I call my wife ‘Mother.’
Mother is my world. I express this to her with daily eye contact and unintentional brushes of the flesh as we try to navigate around each other in the kitchen every morning. I compliment her frequently on her hosiery and her posture and her decision to be chaste.
Sometimes, I’ll leave small notes around for her to find that are usually inside jokes between her and I like “If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them (Leviticus 18:22).” A special relationship like ours is very hard work. But very worth it. But very, very hard.
After 32 years of marriage, I still find ways to surprise and delight her — like by not dining alone with another woman who is not Mother. Not even Mother. Like, my mom, the other Mrs. Pence. Mother deserves to be the off-center of my attention. We even finish each others’ silences at the dinner table.
One time, our lips touched. That happened and it was… it happened.
Every night, we have deep and passionate faith. I give her permission to tuck me into my twin XL bed and allow her to briefly rest her forehead upon mine as we whisper the Lord’s prayer in unison. And then she returns to her own home, so I can rest before I celebrate her again the next day. For the rest of my life.